Where I grew up all the little beer-bars--liquor couldn't be sold by the drink in WV back then--and all the Drive ins and some little hole-in-the wall places all could make a hot dog to die for....By a hot dog to die for, I mean something that, in my experience, does not exist in CT. (Once I describe it, if you know where to find one, please let me know.)
All the hot dogs around here are long and skinny. The hot dog I'm talking about is short and plump and pink. It is made of an equal proportions of pork, nitrates and some red coloring dye to make it so very pink. It is something you would never consider grilling since it would explode and shower you with lard and other noxious things that are better eaten than worn. This is a hot dog you only steam or boil. When you bite into such a hot dog, hot grease explodes into your mouth and you can feel your arteries closing.
But that's not all. These hot dogs ALWAYS have chili on them--no beans in that--just some combination of diced and fried onions, ground beef, chili powder and most like ketchup instead of tomato paste. And it is on a 'real' hot dog bun, not one of these sissy buns with the crust cut off the side. I mean a bun that is brown all outside, not a fru-fru thing that should be a lobster roll.
And the bun has been steamed as well so it is already a little wet and mushy before the other stuff goes on.
The other stuff is, as I have already established, chili, and either yellow mustard and onions or, and preferably, slaw. (Now I have learned to to ask for 'slaw' in CT you have to use the modifier 'cole' or someone just stares at you like your some hick from WV. Where I come from we don't waste an extra word like that. Besides, what other kind of 'slaw' is there? That's it. one way or the other. Just like 'regular coffee' in CT might come with milk and sugar--though there is nothing 'regular' about that--a hot dog will come with chili (did I mention that? no need to order a 'chili dog' where I come from, saving another word for later use) and either slaw OR mustard and onions. If you say, "a dog with slaw' you'll get chili and slaw. If you say 'regular dog' you'll get mustard and onions with the chili and heart stopping wiener.
And you need to order more than one because they are so good you can't stop at one. When my children were little and we were visiting grandparents in southern WV, we would always drive to Lynn's drive-in in Bluewell for a bunch of hotdogs. The soppy bun soaks up all the tastes and is a treat in itself. I pray, if there's a God, that there is still a Lynn's in Bluewell.
When I first moved to Cheshire, everyone told me I had to get a hotdog from Blackie's. So I went and ordered two with 'chili and slaw'. Of course, they had neither but did have some brown mustard (ye gods! brown mustard on a hot dog!) and this very famous confection of over cooked peppers and onions that everyone swore was delightful. Plus the dog was long and skinny--stuck out of the bun unstead of nestling comfortably in it so it takes two bites to get to (the first bite should be soggy bread, chili and slaw). It seemed to me they had somehow deep-fried the thing, which, I suspect had no pork in it, and then threw it on the grill until it was turned black in several places. I left mine half eaten at the counter and never went back.
You just can't find a hot dog around here....
Monday, January 18, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
linear time
I often tell people I am confounded by linear time. It is true: I can't remember what year or what month and sometimes what decade things happen. When we go to Oak Island, NC, as we've been doing the last few years, Bern remembers which houses we stayed in which years! I vaguely remember the houses, but not the years--not on a bet.
Anyhow, I made the mistake this afternoon of looking at a calendar and I realized I only have 14 more Sundays at St. John's before I retire. That just doesn't sound right--it's over 3 months away so why aren't there more Sundays left? Besides, I've been the Rector of St. John's for about 1066 Sundays so far. How can it be only 14 left?
It's like that old question--if you had one day to live, what would you do?
If I have only 14 Sundays left to preach--hard as that seems and realizing I'll probably not preach them all since I usually invite others to preach a time or two during Lent--what do I want to say?
I of course, like Pooh Bear and Christopher Robin, want to sing some 'sustaining songs' over the next months. I want to assure everyone that 'everything will be alright' after I'm gone and I want to believe that for myself.
Lots of people say to me these days something like "what are we going to do without you?" I have good answers for that. The parish is going to find new life and new commitment as they look at themselve free of me. The parish is going to have a great adventure searching for a new Rector and listening to themselves and each other about how wondrous that might be after all these years. The parish is going to experience a burst of freedom and possibility once they get to the phase of 'acceptance' of my leaving and be able to 'define' themselves without the many boundaries and definitions I have imposed along the way. And some day in the not too distant future (this from someone who is confounded by linear time!) they will welcome a new visitor into their midst who they will love and support and be loved and supported back they way we've done it for two decades.
The real question is this: "What am I going to do without them?"
My life for 20 of its best and most productive years has been formed and shaped by the multitude of people who are part of the Body of Christ known as St. John's. I spend more time with the staff of the parish--especially H and S and A and lately F--than I do with my wife and much, much more than I do with my children and friends from beyond the parish. And I count as 'friends' many, many of the people in and around the parish. They'll just be missing one person...I'll be missing them all.
(There is a dispute in the Church about whether or not a priest should befriend members of his/her parish. Many choose and most believe a priest should not to be related to members of the parish on the level of friendship. The though is that it will confuse the 'pastoral' relationship and cloud the lines of authority. I have taken the road less traveled. I am a friend to many of the people I serve. Over the years seminarians have often asked me if I realized the danger of that and I have told them, honestly, that I believe the people I serve and lead--and that, in and of itself is a wierd enough relationship--know how to 'be my friend' and yet let me 'be their priest'. And to a great degree, it has worked for me and I pray for them. So I will be, in a real way, losing most of my friends when I leave St. John's. It makes me catch my breath to realize that. Only 14 Sundays to make sure they know how profoundly I love them....)
Human love and friendship, it seems to me, is a metaphor and a paradigm for the relationship we all should seek with God. Those connections people make in a parish church echo the connection to God that is the point to the whole thing. Friendship is a holy thing, it seems to me.
So, perhaps the best thing I can do over these last weeks and months is simply appreciate and acknowledge how dear the people of St. John's have become to me. Many of them know me so well that it would be impossible for me to 'pretend' with them about much of anything. They've pretty much figured me out. It will ever so strange going into a different community where I don't have those connections and to try to find friendship there....
Did I say 14 Sundays? It must be more than that, surely....
Anyhow, I made the mistake this afternoon of looking at a calendar and I realized I only have 14 more Sundays at St. John's before I retire. That just doesn't sound right--it's over 3 months away so why aren't there more Sundays left? Besides, I've been the Rector of St. John's for about 1066 Sundays so far. How can it be only 14 left?
It's like that old question--if you had one day to live, what would you do?
If I have only 14 Sundays left to preach--hard as that seems and realizing I'll probably not preach them all since I usually invite others to preach a time or two during Lent--what do I want to say?
I of course, like Pooh Bear and Christopher Robin, want to sing some 'sustaining songs' over the next months. I want to assure everyone that 'everything will be alright' after I'm gone and I want to believe that for myself.
Lots of people say to me these days something like "what are we going to do without you?" I have good answers for that. The parish is going to find new life and new commitment as they look at themselve free of me. The parish is going to have a great adventure searching for a new Rector and listening to themselves and each other about how wondrous that might be after all these years. The parish is going to experience a burst of freedom and possibility once they get to the phase of 'acceptance' of my leaving and be able to 'define' themselves without the many boundaries and definitions I have imposed along the way. And some day in the not too distant future (this from someone who is confounded by linear time!) they will welcome a new visitor into their midst who they will love and support and be loved and supported back they way we've done it for two decades.
The real question is this: "What am I going to do without them?"
My life for 20 of its best and most productive years has been formed and shaped by the multitude of people who are part of the Body of Christ known as St. John's. I spend more time with the staff of the parish--especially H and S and A and lately F--than I do with my wife and much, much more than I do with my children and friends from beyond the parish. And I count as 'friends' many, many of the people in and around the parish. They'll just be missing one person...I'll be missing them all.
(There is a dispute in the Church about whether or not a priest should befriend members of his/her parish. Many choose and most believe a priest should not to be related to members of the parish on the level of friendship. The though is that it will confuse the 'pastoral' relationship and cloud the lines of authority. I have taken the road less traveled. I am a friend to many of the people I serve. Over the years seminarians have often asked me if I realized the danger of that and I have told them, honestly, that I believe the people I serve and lead--and that, in and of itself is a wierd enough relationship--know how to 'be my friend' and yet let me 'be their priest'. And to a great degree, it has worked for me and I pray for them. So I will be, in a real way, losing most of my friends when I leave St. John's. It makes me catch my breath to realize that. Only 14 Sundays to make sure they know how profoundly I love them....)
Human love and friendship, it seems to me, is a metaphor and a paradigm for the relationship we all should seek with God. Those connections people make in a parish church echo the connection to God that is the point to the whole thing. Friendship is a holy thing, it seems to me.
So, perhaps the best thing I can do over these last weeks and months is simply appreciate and acknowledge how dear the people of St. John's have become to me. Many of them know me so well that it would be impossible for me to 'pretend' with them about much of anything. They've pretty much figured me out. It will ever so strange going into a different community where I don't have those connections and to try to find friendship there....
Did I say 14 Sundays? It must be more than that, surely....
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Christmas Trees
Our Christmas trees are still up. Since I'm not in charge of their being put up or being taken down, I have no say in it all. However, I don't remember Bern leaving them up this long before.
We have two Christmas trees--first of all because we have more ornaments than one tree can hold and secondly, because I like White Pine and Bern likes Spruce. So one is in the living room and one in the dining room, near the long windows in the front of the house. There is a rocking chair that sits near the doorway from the dining room to the living room where you can sit and see them both. The White pine has colored lights--one inexplicable strand of which blink--and the spruce has very proper Cheshire white lights. Colored lights--especially if they blink in any way--are considered gouache or gauche (which are the two spellings my spell check gave me though I suspect only one of those words means 'tasteless, which is what I mean about 'proper Cheshire lights).
The lights and ornaments are long gone--shortly after New Year's Day--but the trees remain, still healthy and thriving, so far as I can tell. I smelled the White Pine tonight while I was moving through the crowded dining room--most everything from the kitchen is there since we had a new floor put in the kitchen last week. And it smelled like Christmas--or the forest or a Frabreeze pine spray...well, not really, those sprays don't smell like a forest at all, or even a tree. They smell like what they are: chemicals meant to smell like pine.
Anyway, after I smelled the pine tree I took the dog for a walk and in the melting snow we saw the most amazing sight. It was a dandelion, all fluffed up with those little seed wings that blow away and go make more dandelions. I touched it and it was frozen solid. It had just reappeared from the snow that melted today and I was astonished. I would have stayed there and wrote a sonnet in my head about the dandelion in the snow if the dog hadn't been ready to move on and do what most people politely call 'his business'.
Long-lived Christmas trees and frozen dandelions...it is a wondrous world we live in, after all!
K and B were married this afternoon. They are both small people, fragile almost, but exquisite for that. Perfect little images of a bride and a groom--as lovely as pine trees and dandelions...she as embraced in whiteness as any dandelion about to be blown away. They are sweet, dear people and I can only pray they have a life together that is long enough to have too many ornaments for one Christmas tree and a relationship strong enough to have two Christmas trees if they like different kinds. And I hope the smell that fills their lives is of a pine forest and that the joy they know is like the giddy feeling of a white dandelion against their faces. And I hope they'll have a dog to walk in the darkness and a new floor or two to love.
Bern and I were married in 1970. You could do the math...this year will be 40 years. Neither of us has the energy to do anything new so I guess we will make the 'death do us part' moment.
Those are awesome, if not aw-ful vows: better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness or in health...'til death do us part. And they vowed to both 'love' and 'cherish'. CHERISH is such a remarkable word and such a profound concept. To 'cherish' is 'to hold dear', to adore and to honor. Can't do much better than that. Love, I tell couples preparing for marriage, much to their horror, "comes and goes". It just does, like all emotions. But we have a choice in what we 'cherish'. We can choose what we 'hold dear'.
We have two Christmas trees--first of all because we have more ornaments than one tree can hold and secondly, because I like White Pine and Bern likes Spruce. So one is in the living room and one in the dining room, near the long windows in the front of the house. There is a rocking chair that sits near the doorway from the dining room to the living room where you can sit and see them both. The White pine has colored lights--one inexplicable strand of which blink--and the spruce has very proper Cheshire white lights. Colored lights--especially if they blink in any way--are considered gouache or gauche (which are the two spellings my spell check gave me though I suspect only one of those words means 'tasteless, which is what I mean about 'proper Cheshire lights).
The lights and ornaments are long gone--shortly after New Year's Day--but the trees remain, still healthy and thriving, so far as I can tell. I smelled the White Pine tonight while I was moving through the crowded dining room--most everything from the kitchen is there since we had a new floor put in the kitchen last week. And it smelled like Christmas--or the forest or a Frabreeze pine spray...well, not really, those sprays don't smell like a forest at all, or even a tree. They smell like what they are: chemicals meant to smell like pine.
Anyway, after I smelled the pine tree I took the dog for a walk and in the melting snow we saw the most amazing sight. It was a dandelion, all fluffed up with those little seed wings that blow away and go make more dandelions. I touched it and it was frozen solid. It had just reappeared from the snow that melted today and I was astonished. I would have stayed there and wrote a sonnet in my head about the dandelion in the snow if the dog hadn't been ready to move on and do what most people politely call 'his business'.
Long-lived Christmas trees and frozen dandelions...it is a wondrous world we live in, after all!
K and B were married this afternoon. They are both small people, fragile almost, but exquisite for that. Perfect little images of a bride and a groom--as lovely as pine trees and dandelions...she as embraced in whiteness as any dandelion about to be blown away. They are sweet, dear people and I can only pray they have a life together that is long enough to have too many ornaments for one Christmas tree and a relationship strong enough to have two Christmas trees if they like different kinds. And I hope the smell that fills their lives is of a pine forest and that the joy they know is like the giddy feeling of a white dandelion against their faces. And I hope they'll have a dog to walk in the darkness and a new floor or two to love.
Bern and I were married in 1970. You could do the math...this year will be 40 years. Neither of us has the energy to do anything new so I guess we will make the 'death do us part' moment.
Those are awesome, if not aw-ful vows: better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness or in health...'til death do us part. And they vowed to both 'love' and 'cherish'. CHERISH is such a remarkable word and such a profound concept. To 'cherish' is 'to hold dear', to adore and to honor. Can't do much better than that. Love, I tell couples preparing for marriage, much to their horror, "comes and goes". It just does, like all emotions. But we have a choice in what we 'cherish'. We can choose what we 'hold dear'.
Tonight, for me, I cherish my life, my marriage, Christmas trees, frozen dandelions and Puli dogs to walk....
Friday, January 15, 2010
for better or for worse
I had a wedding rehearsal tonight. B and K are getting married tomorrow afternoon. I've done hundreds of these and, if I might say so, I'm fair to middling with weddings. I keep everyone loose and humorous during the rehearsal. I'm pretty good at 'loose and humorous', if I might say so. I start at the end and end at the end, if that makes any sense. I start the rehearsal by practicing the 'going out part' which gets everyone paired up and ready to do the 'coming in part' and go through the service. Tonight's group laughed at all the laugh lines, so I think they are fine.
I have arguments with other priests--and probably with the canons of the church, if I ever bothered to read them--about weddings. Here's why. I think the 'church' is pretty much 'irrelevant' to our culture and society. So, when anybody wants the 'church' involved in their marriage, I am delighted, excited and ready to make it happen.
Lots of priests want people to 'prove themselves' by attending church regularly for some amount of time before the 'church' will be a part of their marriage. I actually think that people who don't attend church who want the church to be a part of their lives in such a remarkably profound moment are people God might want me to invite them into the myths and rituals that the church has to offer.
My definition of a ritual is this--"it is something that seeks to 'make sense' of life". And people, wanting to promise promises and vow vows that will 'make sense' of their lives and want the church's rituals to do that are people folks like me should be welcoming and hospitable to and, without causing them any guilt, let them know God wants to be part of their lives and their love and the crazy complications of being married.
I'm 'marrying Sam' in a way--my job, it seems to me, is to insert God into every crevice and crinkle of the fabric of their lives whenever invited. Have the couple be active and pledging members of the parish for a year before their marriage? I really don't give a fig. They want God messed up in their lives--in all the folds and fibers of their relationship and commitment and love??? That's enough for me. "Come on Down!" I say. Let me add God to all this and just wait and see what happens.
These are good people. I've talked with B and K a half-dozen times and 'counseled' them, if that's the word, about marriage. B's father is his best man. K's father is walking her down the long, long aisle. These are children of two intact families. The angels should serenade them for that alone in a time when marriage itself is an illusion and a temporary state. Sometimes I think the most the church could suggest is serial monogamy, not life-long marriage. And I simply am confounded by those in the church that would deny 'any sacrament' to anybody. The sacraments don't belong to the church, they belong to God. We are just the franchise that can administer them to those Children of God who come looking for them.
The option is to make the church more restrictive and exclusive and retain the sacraments (which are God's, after all, not the property of the church) to those who fit in, obey the rules, meet the standards, live up to the requirements. That direction, that option, which many folks I know support, is to make the church not only irrelevant but inaccessible to the very folks who need it and the very folks who still in some way 'believe' in the sacraments. That, I'm afraid, makes no sense to me.
Will B and K be active members of St. John's? Probably not. Will they, when they have a child, know there is a place that welcomed them and passed on the sacrament of God at their marriage that might just welcome them back with open arms to baptize their child? I think so. And will they, when their children begin asking questions they can't answer about life and death and the 'meaning of everything' consider, if not act on, coming 'home' to the church that is welcoming and open and inclusive to help them with raising their children? Maybe and maybe not. But either way, I want to be the one who opens the doors rather than closes them and leaves the rest to the good people who come to me seeking Sacrament and to God about what happens next.
Just me talkin'. Just me writin'. And that's what I truly believe. God 'opens' doors and windows and anything else that can be opened that might, otherwise, be closed.
Our God OPENS...That what God does, OPENS everything to possibility. And shame on us if we don't do the same....
Praise God for B and K, for their vows, their longing for God to be part of their relationship, their hopefulness, their openess, their marriage....Tomorrow--4 p.m.--2 made 1 by the One we all know, if only dimly. Pray for B and K that their vows will sustain them for decades and decades of struggle, doubt, wonder, love and joy.....
I have arguments with other priests--and probably with the canons of the church, if I ever bothered to read them--about weddings. Here's why. I think the 'church' is pretty much 'irrelevant' to our culture and society. So, when anybody wants the 'church' involved in their marriage, I am delighted, excited and ready to make it happen.
Lots of priests want people to 'prove themselves' by attending church regularly for some amount of time before the 'church' will be a part of their marriage. I actually think that people who don't attend church who want the church to be a part of their lives in such a remarkably profound moment are people God might want me to invite them into the myths and rituals that the church has to offer.
My definition of a ritual is this--"it is something that seeks to 'make sense' of life". And people, wanting to promise promises and vow vows that will 'make sense' of their lives and want the church's rituals to do that are people folks like me should be welcoming and hospitable to and, without causing them any guilt, let them know God wants to be part of their lives and their love and the crazy complications of being married.
I'm 'marrying Sam' in a way--my job, it seems to me, is to insert God into every crevice and crinkle of the fabric of their lives whenever invited. Have the couple be active and pledging members of the parish for a year before their marriage? I really don't give a fig. They want God messed up in their lives--in all the folds and fibers of their relationship and commitment and love??? That's enough for me. "Come on Down!" I say. Let me add God to all this and just wait and see what happens.
These are good people. I've talked with B and K a half-dozen times and 'counseled' them, if that's the word, about marriage. B's father is his best man. K's father is walking her down the long, long aisle. These are children of two intact families. The angels should serenade them for that alone in a time when marriage itself is an illusion and a temporary state. Sometimes I think the most the church could suggest is serial monogamy, not life-long marriage. And I simply am confounded by those in the church that would deny 'any sacrament' to anybody. The sacraments don't belong to the church, they belong to God. We are just the franchise that can administer them to those Children of God who come looking for them.
The option is to make the church more restrictive and exclusive and retain the sacraments (which are God's, after all, not the property of the church) to those who fit in, obey the rules, meet the standards, live up to the requirements. That direction, that option, which many folks I know support, is to make the church not only irrelevant but inaccessible to the very folks who need it and the very folks who still in some way 'believe' in the sacraments. That, I'm afraid, makes no sense to me.
Will B and K be active members of St. John's? Probably not. Will they, when they have a child, know there is a place that welcomed them and passed on the sacrament of God at their marriage that might just welcome them back with open arms to baptize their child? I think so. And will they, when their children begin asking questions they can't answer about life and death and the 'meaning of everything' consider, if not act on, coming 'home' to the church that is welcoming and open and inclusive to help them with raising their children? Maybe and maybe not. But either way, I want to be the one who opens the doors rather than closes them and leaves the rest to the good people who come to me seeking Sacrament and to God about what happens next.
Just me talkin'. Just me writin'. And that's what I truly believe. God 'opens' doors and windows and anything else that can be opened that might, otherwise, be closed.
Our God OPENS...That what God does, OPENS everything to possibility. And shame on us if we don't do the same....
Praise God for B and K, for their vows, their longing for God to be part of their relationship, their hopefulness, their openess, their marriage....Tomorrow--4 p.m.--2 made 1 by the One we all know, if only dimly. Pray for B and K that their vows will sustain them for decades and decades of struggle, doubt, wonder, love and joy.....
Thursday, January 14, 2010
When words fail...January 14
She was 37 years old and was one of the first brides I knew as Rector of St. John's. Just a week or two ago, I talked with her about baptism for her new baby--2 months old, as I remember--and she was deciding on whether the week after Easter worked for her. I'd baptized her two other children over the years. Then, on Sunday, she died. Just like that. Alive one moment and dead the next--the way death works. Death is not something that comes over time. Oh, you can be waiting for someone to die for months, but Death works simply: one moment you are alive and the next moment you are dead.
I did an odd service for her today at the funeral home at 1 p.m. She was cremated at the Medical Examiner's Office in Farmington, after an autopsy to determine why someone 37 had died at all, why that moment came to her.
Even in the cold, the funeral home was stifling because over a hundred people were crowded into a space for 60 or so. A video of her life was running to my right--pictures of her too short life, her children, her family, her friends, things she did before the moment when she was dead and dead for a long, long time. That's the power Death has over us--no matter how long we live, we will be dead for much longer.
The pain and loss was palpable in the room. Her husband and mother and oldest son were in a stupor of sorts, hardly able to react at all to much of anything. The rest of the people there were not talking and laughing and catching up the way people do when an old person dies. There was a pall over the whole room, a blanket spread across them. They were sober, solemn and mostly silent.
Here's one of the reasons I think I am a reasonably good priest: I never try to deceive or lie to people when someone is dead. I have no handy aphorisms or pithy biblical quotes designed to take their mind off the enormity of what has happened to them. Mostly, I say nothing. And when asked questions like "Isn't Daddy in a 'better place'?" I answer, "I have no idea...."
And I don't. That strange and final secret door named Death is something I have no clue about. I simply don't. And I don't reflect on it much because Death is one of the astonishing Mysteries of living. I know all the church's teachings and all the dogma and doctrine and none of that makes the least bit of sense to me.
The best I can come up with and not be telling an untruth is this: I entrust the dead to the heart of God. What that means is beyond me. None of the golden streets and wings and harps and singing the Doxology for eternity speaks to my mind or soul. 'Eternity' as a concept is something I cannot begin to imagine or claim to comprehend. I am locked in 'time'--which we made up to track our journey from birth to death. 'Time' is where I live and move and have my being. Eternity I leave to God.
So, at times like today, words fail--the beautiful and comforting words of the Book of Common Prayer ARE beautiful and comforting--but they fail. And my halting, stuttering words fall short of even failure. Something awful has happened. I am angry with God--which is better, I think, than being angry at the person who died...which we often are. I don't get it, this 'death' thing. I an outraged when it happens and then devolve into broken-hearted and then, usually, hopefully, can come to a moment of 'acceptance', that this horrible thing that has happened does not diminish, in any way, how much God loves us. I know this, when people I love die it doesn't reduce in any way my love for them--that love goes on and even grows. I love my parents much more now, decades after their deaths, than I did when they were alive and with me.
I simply believe the same applies to God. God loves us 'best of all' as we struggle and rejoice through life. Death only increases God's love. At least that's what I believe and hold on to and pray is true. Otherwise, nothing makes sense. Not only do words fail, all things fail.
God's heart, it seems to me--as a priest and a person who will die someday--is where we're bound. God's heart, which is beyond words, understanding, comprehension.
Pain and loss and Mourning and anger and depression we all know when someone dies. What we don't know and can't experience on this side of that strange and wondrous door is this: the Heart of God.
Words fail.
I did an odd service for her today at the funeral home at 1 p.m. She was cremated at the Medical Examiner's Office in Farmington, after an autopsy to determine why someone 37 had died at all, why that moment came to her.
Even in the cold, the funeral home was stifling because over a hundred people were crowded into a space for 60 or so. A video of her life was running to my right--pictures of her too short life, her children, her family, her friends, things she did before the moment when she was dead and dead for a long, long time. That's the power Death has over us--no matter how long we live, we will be dead for much longer.
The pain and loss was palpable in the room. Her husband and mother and oldest son were in a stupor of sorts, hardly able to react at all to much of anything. The rest of the people there were not talking and laughing and catching up the way people do when an old person dies. There was a pall over the whole room, a blanket spread across them. They were sober, solemn and mostly silent.
Here's one of the reasons I think I am a reasonably good priest: I never try to deceive or lie to people when someone is dead. I have no handy aphorisms or pithy biblical quotes designed to take their mind off the enormity of what has happened to them. Mostly, I say nothing. And when asked questions like "Isn't Daddy in a 'better place'?" I answer, "I have no idea...."
And I don't. That strange and final secret door named Death is something I have no clue about. I simply don't. And I don't reflect on it much because Death is one of the astonishing Mysteries of living. I know all the church's teachings and all the dogma and doctrine and none of that makes the least bit of sense to me.
The best I can come up with and not be telling an untruth is this: I entrust the dead to the heart of God. What that means is beyond me. None of the golden streets and wings and harps and singing the Doxology for eternity speaks to my mind or soul. 'Eternity' as a concept is something I cannot begin to imagine or claim to comprehend. I am locked in 'time'--which we made up to track our journey from birth to death. 'Time' is where I live and move and have my being. Eternity I leave to God.
So, at times like today, words fail--the beautiful and comforting words of the Book of Common Prayer ARE beautiful and comforting--but they fail. And my halting, stuttering words fall short of even failure. Something awful has happened. I am angry with God--which is better, I think, than being angry at the person who died...which we often are. I don't get it, this 'death' thing. I an outraged when it happens and then devolve into broken-hearted and then, usually, hopefully, can come to a moment of 'acceptance', that this horrible thing that has happened does not diminish, in any way, how much God loves us. I know this, when people I love die it doesn't reduce in any way my love for them--that love goes on and even grows. I love my parents much more now, decades after their deaths, than I did when they were alive and with me.
I simply believe the same applies to God. God loves us 'best of all' as we struggle and rejoice through life. Death only increases God's love. At least that's what I believe and hold on to and pray is true. Otherwise, nothing makes sense. Not only do words fail, all things fail.
God's heart, it seems to me--as a priest and a person who will die someday--is where we're bound. God's heart, which is beyond words, understanding, comprehension.
Pain and loss and Mourning and anger and depression we all know when someone dies. What we don't know and can't experience on this side of that strange and wondrous door is this: the Heart of God.
Words fail.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
January 13
Yesterday, H., St. John's Parish Administrator, told me she had finally realized that when I leave "every thing will change..."
No shit, Cheyenne! I realize that too--for the parish and for me. Everything will change.
The Episcopal Church has always participated in a group illusion that it doesn't matter, really, who the priest is...the parish is larger than the priest. In a sense that is true. My most profound prayer is that the parish will be stronger and better after I leave. But, in my experience, 'who the Rector IS' is astonishingly important. For one thing, the Rector is, by canon law, 'the boss' is areas of staff, program and worship. That leaves an imprint on the life and fabric of the congregation that in many ways defines the church. It doesn't mean a new Rector can't begin, from day one to replace that imprint--but it is there to replace.
Actually, parishes are like geological strata. Layer after layer is laid on top of the ones before. There are still people here from the Dr. Lewis layer. Dr. Lewis died 7 years before I was born, but he was here for 40 years and left a deep print in the nature of the parish. It was Dr. Lewis who--with far-sighted wisdom--made St. John's a parish deeply committed to 'outreach'. He brought the Red Cross and the Visiting Nurses Association to Waterbury. He provided space to teach English to wave after wave of European immigrants. He housed the WPA workers in the old parish house. And that outline of his devotion to outreach ministry has endured through my day. Others have tinkered with the outlines of the imprint, but have had the good sense not to try to eliminate it.
Then there are layers of people who became part of the church during the residency of other Rectors. The biggest one was Mike Kendall who was associate and then rector here during the late 60's until 1978. Another outreach priest who had a profound effect on people as a pastor and a friend. There was a long time member, God bless her soul, who used to tell people, in front of me, "Mike Kendall was my favorite rector...."
Mike was once standing outside the church with me looking at our sign. On the sign are service times and those universal symbols for male/female/handicapped bathrooms. "That's great," he said, "what a ministry."
Just today, on a light pole near the church I found a pencil drawn sign that said 'bathrooms' with an arrow pointing to st. John's.
The staff jokes a lot about our 'bathroom ministry'--which isn't pleasant but vital to those friends of ours who are outside and either homeless or far from home who need a bathroom. A recent seminarian gave a sermon about the holiness of cleaning feces off the wall. Some felt that was a little too vivid, but it is true. I have become adept at unplugging toilets in my time at St. John's and am better off for that. We are a church with a strong appreciation of Incarnation--the body has many functions and we are one of the few places in the center of the city where folks can find 'rest and relief'.
Several years ago I saw a young man walk past the church office window unzipping his pants. When I didn't hear the door open I went to see and found him peeing beside the church house door.
"Don't do that," I told him, "come in and use the bathroom...."
"I'm homeless," he said, about as angry as I would be if I were homeless, "I bet you have a bathroom in your house."
"I have three," I said, "and would like more but this isn't a conversation about the inequities of society, it's about how you are welcome to come in and pee...."
I've thought for a long time that the three professions that should be paid the most are Day Care Workers, Garbage Collectors and Nursing Home Aides. People who care for our children should be almost deities in our midst. People who take away the incredible amount of waste we make should be honored. And those who clean up our messes when we are old should sit in seats of honor.
It's all about waste and bodily functions when you get right down to it. Why shouldn't those jobs pay 6 figures? And why shouldn't cleaning feces off the wall be holy?
More later. Love you.
No shit, Cheyenne! I realize that too--for the parish and for me. Everything will change.
The Episcopal Church has always participated in a group illusion that it doesn't matter, really, who the priest is...the parish is larger than the priest. In a sense that is true. My most profound prayer is that the parish will be stronger and better after I leave. But, in my experience, 'who the Rector IS' is astonishingly important. For one thing, the Rector is, by canon law, 'the boss' is areas of staff, program and worship. That leaves an imprint on the life and fabric of the congregation that in many ways defines the church. It doesn't mean a new Rector can't begin, from day one to replace that imprint--but it is there to replace.
Actually, parishes are like geological strata. Layer after layer is laid on top of the ones before. There are still people here from the Dr. Lewis layer. Dr. Lewis died 7 years before I was born, but he was here for 40 years and left a deep print in the nature of the parish. It was Dr. Lewis who--with far-sighted wisdom--made St. John's a parish deeply committed to 'outreach'. He brought the Red Cross and the Visiting Nurses Association to Waterbury. He provided space to teach English to wave after wave of European immigrants. He housed the WPA workers in the old parish house. And that outline of his devotion to outreach ministry has endured through my day. Others have tinkered with the outlines of the imprint, but have had the good sense not to try to eliminate it.
Then there are layers of people who became part of the church during the residency of other Rectors. The biggest one was Mike Kendall who was associate and then rector here during the late 60's until 1978. Another outreach priest who had a profound effect on people as a pastor and a friend. There was a long time member, God bless her soul, who used to tell people, in front of me, "Mike Kendall was my favorite rector...."
Mike was once standing outside the church with me looking at our sign. On the sign are service times and those universal symbols for male/female/handicapped bathrooms. "That's great," he said, "what a ministry."
Just today, on a light pole near the church I found a pencil drawn sign that said 'bathrooms' with an arrow pointing to st. John's.
The staff jokes a lot about our 'bathroom ministry'--which isn't pleasant but vital to those friends of ours who are outside and either homeless or far from home who need a bathroom. A recent seminarian gave a sermon about the holiness of cleaning feces off the wall. Some felt that was a little too vivid, but it is true. I have become adept at unplugging toilets in my time at St. John's and am better off for that. We are a church with a strong appreciation of Incarnation--the body has many functions and we are one of the few places in the center of the city where folks can find 'rest and relief'.
Several years ago I saw a young man walk past the church office window unzipping his pants. When I didn't hear the door open I went to see and found him peeing beside the church house door.
"Don't do that," I told him, "come in and use the bathroom...."
"I'm homeless," he said, about as angry as I would be if I were homeless, "I bet you have a bathroom in your house."
"I have three," I said, "and would like more but this isn't a conversation about the inequities of society, it's about how you are welcome to come in and pee...."
I've thought for a long time that the three professions that should be paid the most are Day Care Workers, Garbage Collectors and Nursing Home Aides. People who care for our children should be almost deities in our midst. People who take away the incredible amount of waste we make should be honored. And those who clean up our messes when we are old should sit in seats of honor.
It's all about waste and bodily functions when you get right down to it. Why shouldn't those jobs pay 6 figures? And why shouldn't cleaning feces off the wall be holy?
More later. Love you.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
January 12--day three
I'm thinking, should I count up to my April 30 retirement or count down from now? I'd have to go to a calendar and figure out how many days there are between today and April 30 to count down to 1. I could probably do it in my head--Feb has 28 days, March 31, April 30. That's, if I counted right and it isn't a leap year (I didn't cheat and look) is 89 days. January has 19 left, I think, which boils it down to 108 days before I leave St. John's. That just seems too few after 20 years (some 7307 days and more). That really bums me out, having 108 days left out of so many. So, I won't count 'down', I don't think. I'll simply keep writing and let it go at that.
I'm having a hard time with this right now. There was an article in the newspaper today "Popular Rector Leaves Church". One of the reasons I'm stopping is that I believe, in a positive way, I still am 'popular'. Not with everyone, surely, but with enough and those who matter. I am always distressed by athletes who play one or two years past their prime and leave because they have to or aren't given a contract extention. That saddens me. So, leaving now, at--if not at the 'top' of my game, at least still playing well--seems the right way to go. One of the most wondrous members of the parish told me in the parking lot yesterday that he was happy I could leave 'on my terms'. He was forced out of his job decades ago and it still hurts. So I go now, even though I think I could still contribute to the life and ministry of the church. "My terms" aren't bad, not a bad way to stop.
Which is what I'm doing: I'm 'stopping'. I'm not quitting or leaving or finished or resigning...none of that. I'm stopping, now, on my terms, before I 'have to' quit or enough people want me to leave. And I'm having a hard time with it today. People I love have told me how they are having a hard time with it all and I don't even tell them I am too. I just tell them "I know" and try to honor their feelings of loss and pain even though I have those feelings too.
I've started noticing 'what I will miss'.
I'll miss my 'smoking porch'. I'm stopping smoking as well, but it, like my leaving St. John's, is a drawn out process. The only place I allow myself to smoke is a little porch off the sacristy. Smoking there is like being in Dr. Seusses' book about "I saw it all on Mulberry Street." Every time I go out there to smoke I see something amazing: an Orthodox Jew carrying a cat across the street wrapped in a blanket; a woman smoking and talking on her phone with her Pug dog driving the car, apparently; a crow as big as a chicken; a woman with jeans so tight I would pay to see her take them off (not for 'that' reason, but just to see how she does it); a plastic bag that blew around my head and then off down toward the Green like the bag at the end of "American Beauty Rose"; a guy with so many returnable bottles and cans in his car that I couldn't see through the windows to see him driving; a drunk man who stopped traffic until a young woman could get her baby carriage across the snow bank and cross; homeless couples holding hands like all lovers should; secretaries out walking on their lunch hours from the law firms that line the Green; a lovely woman jogging, thin and taunt as a dressmaker's dummy, her pony tail shifting side to side, grave and precious as a newly laid egg; large people on small bicycles; cars with the radio or CD player turned up so loud they must have permanent ear damage; old men shuffling, wheezing, on their way somewhere, perhaps to die; young people, their coats open even in the chill, strutting their stuff....and lots more. I see it all from my smoking porch.
And I've seen it all here as the Rector of St. John's. I've seen and experienced and known more than you imagine...more than you CAN imagine....And I'm going to leave that behind in 108 days or so. I've having trouble with it now, right now. It will pass, I know, but right now I dread that leaving....
I'm having a hard time with this right now. There was an article in the newspaper today "Popular Rector Leaves Church". One of the reasons I'm stopping is that I believe, in a positive way, I still am 'popular'. Not with everyone, surely, but with enough and those who matter. I am always distressed by athletes who play one or two years past their prime and leave because they have to or aren't given a contract extention. That saddens me. So, leaving now, at--if not at the 'top' of my game, at least still playing well--seems the right way to go. One of the most wondrous members of the parish told me in the parking lot yesterday that he was happy I could leave 'on my terms'. He was forced out of his job decades ago and it still hurts. So I go now, even though I think I could still contribute to the life and ministry of the church. "My terms" aren't bad, not a bad way to stop.
Which is what I'm doing: I'm 'stopping'. I'm not quitting or leaving or finished or resigning...none of that. I'm stopping, now, on my terms, before I 'have to' quit or enough people want me to leave. And I'm having a hard time with it today. People I love have told me how they are having a hard time with it all and I don't even tell them I am too. I just tell them "I know" and try to honor their feelings of loss and pain even though I have those feelings too.
I've started noticing 'what I will miss'.
I'll miss my 'smoking porch'. I'm stopping smoking as well, but it, like my leaving St. John's, is a drawn out process. The only place I allow myself to smoke is a little porch off the sacristy. Smoking there is like being in Dr. Seusses' book about "I saw it all on Mulberry Street." Every time I go out there to smoke I see something amazing: an Orthodox Jew carrying a cat across the street wrapped in a blanket; a woman smoking and talking on her phone with her Pug dog driving the car, apparently; a crow as big as a chicken; a woman with jeans so tight I would pay to see her take them off (not for 'that' reason, but just to see how she does it); a plastic bag that blew around my head and then off down toward the Green like the bag at the end of "American Beauty Rose"; a guy with so many returnable bottles and cans in his car that I couldn't see through the windows to see him driving; a drunk man who stopped traffic until a young woman could get her baby carriage across the snow bank and cross; homeless couples holding hands like all lovers should; secretaries out walking on their lunch hours from the law firms that line the Green; a lovely woman jogging, thin and taunt as a dressmaker's dummy, her pony tail shifting side to side, grave and precious as a newly laid egg; large people on small bicycles; cars with the radio or CD player turned up so loud they must have permanent ear damage; old men shuffling, wheezing, on their way somewhere, perhaps to die; young people, their coats open even in the chill, strutting their stuff....and lots more. I see it all from my smoking porch.
And I've seen it all here as the Rector of St. John's. I've seen and experienced and known more than you imagine...more than you CAN imagine....And I'm going to leave that behind in 108 days or so. I've having trouble with it now, right now. It will pass, I know, but right now I dread that leaving....
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